“I surely hope so.”
“Good. I’ll see you around nine AM. Give the cops my contact information. Prepare for this to blow up any second, but work it until it does. Shut the place down when it’s done and get everybody back to the city.” She muttered a curse. “Godforsaken wilderness.”
Trey and Finn had their own confab before Finn hung up, and then he pulled me into his “suite” at the station. A place for on-call security to grab a breather or even a quick nap, it was a spare room with a twin bed and tiny bathroom, rough-hewn and utilitarian. A nondescript closet door and one heavily curtained window and four wood-paneled walls. That was it.
“Go back to your cabin,” he said. “Lock the doors. I’ll check in once I’ve dealt with the authorities.”
“I’d rather stay here.”
He shook his head. “The situation has become complicated beyond its original parameters. I never expected—”
“For things to get this crazy, yes, I know. How many times have I said that same thing to you? And how many times have you still shown up for me?”
He put his hands on his hips and looked at me, hard. I let him look, let him get a good eyeful of what I was about to say.
“The answer is, every single time. And so here I am. Ms. Reciprocation.” I smiled at him. “You asked me to help. Let me help.”
He hesitated for barely a second before handing me a radio and one of the earpieces. “Channel six is regular communication. Channel four emergencies. Keep the barn secure until the authorities arrive. As soon as they do, I’ll send an officer your way. Jonathon and I will handle the situation here. Do you have your cell phone?”
I held it up. “Also my weapon. Just in case.”
He nodded. “Good. Run the app if you decide I need to be aware of whatever is happening. I’ll meet you back here as soon as the police have cleared the scene.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
The corner of his mouth twitched in a weary, almost-smile. “No, ma’am. Just be careful. Please.”
Chapter Forty-eight
The next few hours passed in a blur. I met the officer at the barn and walked her through the attempted arson. I pointed out the cigarettes first, and then the candle and acetone set-up. She left me waiting outside for an hour while she investigated. Afterward, she quizzed me a second time to see if my story stuck together, and when it did, she strung up police tape around the barn and sent me back to the check-in station.
Trey had a similar report. He looked exhausted, his last reserves burned clean. He insisted on updating his information anyway, and had his timeline spread on top of an empty desk in the corner of the video monitoring room.
“How did Quint react to his car being stolen?” I said.
Trey pulled the rubber band off a stack of index cards. “Not well. He threatened to sue.”
“Big surprise. What about Portia?”
“She’s back in her cabin. Their physician determined that she was not overdosed.”
“So she was drunk.”
“I don’t know. She refused to have her BAC tested and locked herself in her room.”
“Entirely unsurprising.”
“Entirely.” Trey examined his layout, tapped his pencil against the tabletop. “While I was there, however, I took the opportunity to…inspect their quarters.”
“You snooped.”
“Inspected.” He circled a word on one of the cards, then placed it on the table. “The supplement she uses in her shakes does have kava.”
Portia’s name now had a red asterisk beside it. Trey had moved her to the “suspect” category along with Quint and Addison.
“You think she poisoned Nick?”
“Overdosed. And I don’t know. I merely found the means by which she could have.”
“And she handed me motive on a silver platter. Opportunity?”
Trey pointed to a section of his timeline. “According to the showrunner’s notes, she was in the makeup trailer right before we arrived on Monday.”
“I figured as much. Of course, so was Addison. And Quint. Nick’s trailer was Grand Central Station that afternoon.”
Trey nodded. The security cabin was quiet this time of night, silent except for the hum of electronics. No footsteps, no cars, no conversation. Softly lit and spare, it felt like an outpost on the very edge of civilization.
“What about tonight? Do they suspect her of arson?”
“Attempted arson. And I don’t know.”
“Whoever did it knew there were no cameras out there. And they knew enough about Nick to frame him for the deed. They left his cigarettes on the ground. Used acetone as an accelerant, just like he keeps in his make-up kit.” I sat on the edge of the desk and pointed to a different card. “My money’s on Oliver. Why else would he be making a break for it at midnight?”
“I agree that his behavior is suspicious. But I can’t think of a motive.”
“Do the cops have any ideas?”
Trey put his hand to the back of his neck, rubbed out a knot. “If they do, they are withholding them from me. There’s a BOLO out for him regardless.” He kept his tone mild. “Quint, however, suggested that you and I might be responsible.”
I stared at him. “You and me? Seriously?”
“Yes. He suggested we’re working together to sabotage…something. He wasn’t very clear about that, only that everyone was working against him—”
“—and he was going to sue, right.” I shook my head. “Quint is suing us, and Nick’s been playing us. The Talbot brothers have been one complication after another.”
Trey didn’t contradict me. He continued placing his index cards on the desk in rows and columns, a portable version of the wall of his apartment. Means, motives, and opportunities, suspects and victims, like a crime and punishment bingo card. Trey stared at the data as if some answer might bubble up. I looked over his shoulder, following the various lines and annotations…
And something did bubble up.
Something I had never considered.
I pointed to Nick’s suspect card. “You were there when he said Addison was at home the night of the shooting.
